


A Realisation

by Spayne



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spayne/pseuds/Spayne
Summary: Ten weeks of baby steps and a few conversations that you should have had much sooner.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 143
Kudos: 581





	1. Chapter 1

You love her. You realise it all at once, you’re sitting at your shitty table in the shitty flat that you now...Share? Cohabitate?  


Jesus, if there is a word to describe what’s been happening for the past 10 weeks you aren’t able to find it.

You realise it whilst eating cold toast and drinking even colder coffee. Both must have been prepared hours earlier, her only acknowledgment of your existence this morning. 

That no longer surprises you though, this is how she gets whilst she is....working. You instantly curse yourself for being a coward. Call it what it is. If you are going to name this long standing knot in your stomach, throat and chest as love then you sure as shit better be honest about what she is and what she does.

Hunting. She is hunting. 

The thought simultaneously repulses as it arouses you. She is sitting in your bed, wearing your clothes, hair in a messy bun, entirely focused on whoever she is pursuing next, and nothing else, not even you, exist to her in this moment. You allow yourself a brief moment of indulgence to consider that you were once the target of that intensity, the thought makes you burn.

You’ve learned to take the opportunity that her diverted focus allows you. You can look at her all you please without your gaze being met with that insufferable, self satisfied smirk grazing her face. It gives you room to look at her and to think. 

It wasn’t this easy to start with, it wasn’t this comfortably quiet. You found her sat on your doorstep in a blue jumpsuit of some description. The only word you could find to describe her then was....less. Although thinking back, you acknowledge that that wasn’t quite right. You had come back from Poland, without a husband, to find her there. You opened the door to usher her inside and she followed without comment. She waited patiently at the table whilst you showered and after, the first thing she said was, “I need to take this off”. 

There was nothing sexual behind her words, and you were grateful for that. Jesus, Nikko was barely cold in the ground. Instead you nodded, gave her the t shirt she is wearing now and directed her into the shower. After some mortifying internal deliberations over how and where you should be sitting when she eventually emerges, you settled for just going to bed. She entered the room quietly, and curled up behind you, looping a loose arm around your waist and fell asleep. Its been like that for the 10 weeks since. 

If she doesn’t meet you after work to walk you home, she is waiting with food sat on the table. Its weird to think that this is the routine you found stifling before. 

This though, the hunting, you’ve only seen it twice before. She’s been away for a few nights at a time on maybe 4 occasions since she first turned up. She hid this from you for the first two, but now you get to watch.

The first time she disappeared was two weeks into …this. Whatever it is. You came home from the restaurant to find her gone. You were….. well, looking back now you can acknowledge it for what is was. You were crushed. Again. She had left clothes, all things that she had bought since she started staying. The jumpsuit was gone.

You had attributed some meaning to that. Possibly incorrectly. The whole Russia/family meet up has been a topic best avoided so far. She came back but the jumpsuit didn’t. Whatever that means. Its on your list of things to claw out of her. Thats a long list admittedly.

You moped. Then she was back and it fellinto the same routine as before. Walks after work, talking over dinner and wine, falling asleep in the same bed but never touching, you’d wake up wrapped up in her all the same. You’re less surprised to find you love her than when you found out that she is a cuddler.

After the second time she left and returned you asked for some warning. She looked at you for a long moment, asked if you really thought she’d disappear into the night. You told her that it would suit her love of theatrics. There was an odd look that crossed her face and she shrugged and said ok. 

Letting you in to see the hunting seems to act as her warning that she about to leave again.

So, this is what being in love with a psychopath looks like. It’s a weird thought, and it isn’t.


	2. Victories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh. Well that was surprisingly well received.
> 
> Thanks for the kind comments and kudos. 
> 
> Here’s another.

“I’m leaving first thing tomorrow morning, should be a few days no more”

Her words bring you back to the present and ....fuck....there’s the smirk. She caught you staring. Again. For fucks sake.

“But, I thought I could collect you from work tonight. I’d like to do something before I go”

“Could we go from here? I’ll smell of pork and I’d like to shower before anything with...people”

“You’ll smell of pork and cigarettes which is significantly worse, but there will be no other people and I already know the smell so it is fine.”

You consider putting up some mock resistance but honestly this is the first time she’s actually made plans with you. Normally she just shows up after work, or you both decide something to do in that moment. She’s very careful not to make plans. So honestly you’re too curious to play coy.

“Ok”

“Ok. Good”

She nods to her self and a look crosses her face. Relief? It’s hard to read her at the best of times. 

You glance at the clock.

“Im going to shower, if I’m in by 10 I’ll be able to leave by 6.”

If she hears you she doesn’t acknowledge it. She’s all focus and tightly controlled energy again. 

In the shower you notice that your shower gel and body wash has disappeared and has been replaced by something more expensive and French. You’re used to this now, finding things replaced without comment but that doesn’t mean the irritation no longer prickles when you make such a discovery. 

The first thing changed was the coffee, the jar of instant replaced by a machine on the work top.

Then it was the sheets on the bed and the duvet cover. 

The instant noodles replaced by actual ingredients.

The cutlery. God she’s such a snob. Honestly who is so offended by standard ikea cutlery in someone else’s kitchen that they have to replace it themselves? The fact that the new set feels so much nicer in your grip is a truth that you will take to your grave. You can not imagine ever giving her the satisfaction of knowing this.

You started to play a game where she would change something and you wouldn’t react. You wouldn’t comment, you drank the frankly unbelievable coffee and ate with the sleek feeling cutlery without comment. 

On it went, the pillows, the fabric softener, the now really nice wooden hangers in the wardrobe, you almost cracked when the the unopened pack of standard dishwasher tabs went in the bin to be replaced by the expensive ones with the stupid red ball in the middle. 

She obviously knew how hard you worked to keep quiet. It became a new battle ground between you, how far could she push before she got a reaction. She used to push you with flamboyant murders now she uses domesticity. Whatever, it’s all the same. 

It was all fine and, if you weren’t winning, then at least you weren’t losing. Until the bed. 

One night you must have been laying on your shoulder for too long and white hot pain shot through you. You must have woken her as a hand appeared against you, then her mouth against your shoulder blade and, 

“I am so-“

“Don’t”,you had snapped. 

You weren't ready to let go of the hard boiled knot of resentment. You didn’t want to hear her apologies or see whatever expression your reaction prompts. You didn't want to feel guilty for being angry. You still don't.

She was silent and the moment passed. 

A week later you got in from a shift at 1am and sank on the bed to find memory foam where there had been uselessly unsupportive springs. She was so still that you knew she was awake. You climbed in and after a long moment she turned over to gather you into her embrace. She must have caught a look on your face.

“What? The old mattress was shit. I need to be getting a proper rest at night or I’ll get sloppy. This purchase will probably save my life” A pause. “It is also good for orthopaedic...issues”. 

You didn’t struggle to read her then. You didn’t speak for several minutes.

“Thank you.”

She had said nothing. She sighed and pulled you closer. You lay in her arms weighing up whether this was her victory or yours.


	3. Cigarettes

She hates the cigarettes. You knew that anyway, and she certainly made little secret of it. 

“Have you ever kissed a smoker Eve? It is disgusting”

“Good thing we don’t kiss then”

That had shut her up but the victory had felt hollow in your chest even then. The whole....sex thing... or lack there of, has played on your mind since the first time her arm looped around your waist and you felt her breath against the nape of your neck, only for her to fall asleep moments later.

You look at your reflection in the door to the restaurant kitchen. You look...ok, well, you look gross now but you know you can look good, very good even. 

She might catch you doing it more often, but you’ve caught her looking too. So you conclude it’s not a lack of interest.

  
In the past she hasn’t been subtle, neither have you, but this tentative truce feels delicate and neither of you have been brave enough to press the parameters to that extent.

You’ve thought about it of course. 

God, you’ve thought about it. 

How can you not when you wake up to all that skin pressed tightly against yours. But it’s never felt like the right time, or at least it’s never felt risk free enough, to let your hand drift across her in the morning as your palm itches to do. 

Niko hated smokers too, said that he grew up in about 6 inches of smoke and never wanted to live like that again. Your heart sinks a little bit. The restaurant is really your only safe space to think about him. 

She caught you crying at home once, she sat beside you with a hand on your back and said nothing. It wasn’t awkward per se, more that sharing your grief with her felt like a betrayal of him. 

She has spoken of it only once since. She caught you staring out the window once whilst she was cooking. 

“I will spare nothing for the person who brought you such pain.”

“Do you know who? Or why?”

“I have an idea” 

“Will you tell me before you do it?”

“Would you like me to....”

She stumbled over the words then tried again.

“Would you like to be there...Do you want to watch?”

“I don’t know. Yes?”

“Ok”

She’s said nothing since and you haven’t pressed the issue.

It’s 1pm. If you don’t smoke any more cigarettes today it’s a gruelling three hours of food prep before another break. 

She doesn’t like the taste. 

If she kisses you tonight she’ll know you didn’t smoke today. Know that it was a conscious choice you made in anticipation of her. 

You know that she will count it as a win. 

That thought is what gives you pause.  
Not the bodies in her wake, not your recently dead husband but the thought that you just can’t let her win. 

Jesus. Whatever else is wrong with her, there is definitely something wrong with you. 

You stub out the freshly lit cigarette and go back inside.


	4. Chapter 4

She’s waiting at the back door to the restaurant. Oh Christ, she looks...she looks beautiful. Ridiculously so, standing in the alley next to the bins and old plastic crates.

“Oh fuck no. We’re going home first. I’m not going anywhere looking like this whilst you look...”

You gesture vaguely up and down at her.

“..like that.”

She stifles a grin.

“I do look excellent you are right. But I have all the things you need, you can get ready whilst I am setting everything up”

You look at her unsure.

“Or don’t. I like you like this too. I just thought dressing up would be......nice”

She looks nervous and disappointed, it’s a weird thing for you to see on her. She has so many different skins that you don’t believe that even if you knew her everyday for the rest of your life you’d ever see them all.

You sigh.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. Where are we going?”

“You’ll see”

She’s like a child when she’s like this, excited to the point where her body can hardly contain it. She drags you around town, a ride on the tube and 20 minutes of walking, talking animatedly about .....everything....how much she is looking forward to showing you whatever you are heading toward....how the day has dragged. You barely get a word in.

Then you are there. The front door to a lobby in a large apartment block. She hurriedly speaks to the doorman in what sounds like Czech? Maybe Croatian? Something like that. He smiles at her and puts a hand on her arm. She grins and leads you to the lift. The lift that serves one property per floor. Jesus.

She’s quiet in the lift. Finally.

You start to feel nervous. 

What is she leading you into? 

She was hunting this morning. Is this...is this the retribution she promised the person who killed Niko? Is she bringing you here to....? Your mind races and your chest tightens. 

It would be like her, you think, to want you both dressed up for this, for when you kill your next victim. She’s practically dressed for the theatre right now and god knows what she has picked out for you.

You remember the feel of a haze of blood coating your face. The sickening crunch of bone. 

You said you wanted to be there when she did it. But....shouldn’t she have given you more warning? 

“Hey, are you alright?” 

Her hand reaches for yours and you snatch it back. 

“What are we doing here?”

“I told you, I want it to be a surprise...”

She looks wrong footed and the cruel part of you wants to savour that.

The door opens and you steel yourself to have this same fight, the fight in Rome, and for all of this to be over. Again. 

Hopefully you won’t get shot this time. 

The door opens into a large room. There are three large sets of double doors which open onto what looks like a terrace that runs beyond the length of this room. There are a series of other doors, other rooms. It’s empty but for two chairs and a table set for dinner.

You must look shocked.

She barks out a laugh.

“Honestly what were you expecting? What else would we be doing where you had an opportunity to shower and change first?”

You pause and deliberate how honest to be.

“I don’t know, this morning you were....you know... and I had said that I might want to be there when you found whoever had killed Niko and....”

Another barked out laugh.

“I am wearing velvet shoes.”

She says as if that is sufficient explanation. 

It’s not. She sighs.

“It was enough of a compromise to travel across London in these. I would not subject them to a murder. Blood does not wash easily from velvet and as much as I look forward to helping you with that project, it is not ready yet, and anyway these shoes would be a personal sacrifice I am not willing to make. Even for you.”

The delivery is completely straight, but you huff out a sort of laugh.

She smiles, looking relaxed again. Her sense of humour has always charmed you. Despite your best efforts sometimes.

“There are rooms down that corridor to the left. What I brought earlier of your things are in the first bedroom and bathroom, everything else is in the suitcase. I need....”

She pauses to look at the clock.

“An hour. For the food.”

It’s your turn to look wrong footed. 

“So this is just a date?”

The instant the word is out of your mouth you regret it. She’s positively glowing.

“‘ Just a date’  pfft. Most women would be flattered that the object of their affections went to such trouble.”

You raise your eyebrows. She stares straight back, daring you to do something with that.

“Ok, ok. I’m going”

You’re almost out of the room when it comes.

“We could pick off Alberto downstairs in the lobby if you like? No axe but I’ve got a set of steak knives?”

A moment passes before you feel a grin splinter across your face unbidden. You turn back only once you’ve got it under control. When did Rome become fair game for teasing?

“Too soon?” She asks

“Oh fuck off, I’m going for a shower. Don’t kill anyone whilst I’m gone”

“Of course not, Baby, I can wait”

You ignore her and head for the shower.


	5. Chapter 5

The bedroom is big. It’s double fronted and leads onto the terrace. There is no furniture in the rest of the apartment that you’ve seen, except the new looking mattress on the floor. You carefully ignore it.  


There are several cases in the corner. Her travel one. Her work suitcase, you correct yourself . You are unbearably curious over what she brings with her when she plans a kill. A suitcase full of knives? A series of fluffy novels for the flight? Sudoku? Another question for your list.

You’ve not discussed Rome. Not once. It’s still too raw, there still too much potential for it to unravel whatever it is you’ve carefully crafted together in the last 10 weeks.

You can’t find the words to apologise for what you said without feeling like you withdraw your right to be angry and hurt about what she did. 

You aren’t even sure you want to apologise. 

Honestly the gun shot was only part of it. The betrayal of putting you in a position where she knew you would kill for her was worse.

You open the bag on the mattress. You’ve already found your make up and usual shampoo and conditioner set out in the bathroom.

There’s a dress. It’s lovely. Of course it is. 

You wonder whether she’ll have been bold enough to have bought you new underwear. Before Rome you are certain that you’d have pulled out something she’d chosen, a style daring enough to push the limits of your Marks and Spencer faithfuls but not so far that you’d shy away from wearing it. 

But this Villanelle, this new cautious version, has simply taken a strapless bra and knickers from your drawers and tucked it into the suitcase. 

This version is trickier to predict, more vulnerable perhaps. Whatever the difference or reason for it, you feel the need to tread more lightly than before. To take greater care with her feelings, because they are real. You were off base in Rome, on that point at least. You can admit that now. Although maybe not to her. Again you’re not sure you have the words.

You’ve had the day to consider the new element to this equation. Well, the newly acknowledged element at least. 

The ‘love’ thing. 

You aren’t ready to share this with her either. Not until you’ve had enough time to let it settle, to decide what to do with it. You aren’t even sure you are happy about it. You probably aren’t. There’s too much that you need to say that could ruin everything and you imagine it’s the same for her. 

She’s not said it since Rome. Hasn’t got anywhere close to it.

Jesus after what you said back, she’d be an idiot to try again. Particularly without some sign from you that you’d be at all receptive. 

Aside from the .... sleeping arrangements.... you’ve settled into a friendship of sorts but nothing more. This evening is the first time that she’s really indulged in the flirting that was once second nature.

You finish blow drying your hair, grateful for the white noise blocking whatever too forceful trombone led music she has playing in the kitchen. Another weird foible that’s become a staple in your life. 

You look in the mirror. You look good. You’ve shaved your legs, another action she’ll appropriate as a win. You sigh. 

You resolve to put whatever is bubbling up inside you, the love and the anger, aside for the evening. She has obviously got something planned for tonight, and she’s gone to such an effort and seems so delighted with it all that you can’t bring yourself to want to spoil it. 

You think of all the times over the last 10 weeks where she’s clearly stopped herself on the edge of topics you’re uncomfortable with. 

Your shoulder. Raymond. Niko. Sex. Her work. Love.

A hundred times she stopped short of saying something incendiary. All the times you’ve seen the thoughts bubble inside her only for the words never to materialise.

It dawns on you then how careful she has been of you. She turned up at the shitty flat, clearly distraught about something and then spent the following 10 weeks taking care of you. 

Fuck.

Well you definitely can’t bring yourself to ruin tonight now. 

What an asshole. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, I found more tricky. Actual humans interacting and all. I’m all about Dawson’s Creek levels of introspection so I struggled for conversational tone here. Hopefully I’m not too far wide of the mark, but if so there will be a return to the navel gazing soon. 
> 
> Thank you to everybody who has taken the time to read and comment. This is my first toe in the water and I appreciate all the support.

“So what is this place....”

You gesture to the rest of the apartment with your fork. Another really nice feeling piece of cutlery. God she’s annoying. You hoped to be at least ten years older before you started to care about stuff like that. 

“...an Airbnb?”

“I rent it out mostly, yes.”

“It’s yours?” 

You are surprised. You knew she had money. But not this kind of money. 

She’s looking sheepish.

“Yeah....”

“Why? How? I mean, what are you 25? Actually don’t tell me how, I definitely don’t want to know”

She smiles, still a bit sheepish.

“When I was young...”

You scoff.

“.....Konstantin was angry that my portfolio wasn’t diverse enough. Blah blah economic shock blah blah. So I went through a phase of buying property. I even bought his childhood home.....he did not find that as amusing as I had hoped”

There’s something hidden there. Something she’s trying to hold back.

“What was so terrible about it before, how you kept your money I mean?”

She’s silent. The sheepish face is back. You know you’ve singled it out, the thing she didn’t mean to reveal.

“Go on..”

“Mostly bags, some shoes, lots of elegant things for my cupboards, you know, that sort of thing”

You laugh. She smiles.

“What?” She says as she balls up a napkin and throws it at you.

The knots are back, in your throat, stomach and chest.

She waves her hand dismissively.

Something shifts then, shifts in her manner, her expression. She’s more focused, more intent. 

The image of her as she hunts crosses your mind.

You brace yourself. This is what she’s been working toward. This is what the food, the charm, the shy smiles have been leading up to.

“You like it then? This apartment?”

“Oksana, it’s a full floor in a London apartment block with views of a park. I hate it, obviously, who wouldn’t”

She doesn’t rise to your teasing and nods sagely.

“We could live here. You wouldn’t need the shitty job at the restaurant, you would have the time and space to find something you loved”

“You want us to live here so I can quit my job?”

There is something you are missing. Just like the story from earlier, a piece she is holding back. 

“I do not like the pork smell”

You say nothing. She sighs.

“This apartment has more than one bedroom.”

“Okay?”

“We can live here and try to make something work, and ……you can choose to sleep in your own bed ...or in mine”

“I’m confused”

“Before, in Rome...”

“Villanelle...” You interrupt her

“Villanelle is it now? I’m both, you know. I’m both all the time. It’s not Oksana when you’re on a nice date with me and Villanelle when I do something you do not like.” 

“I know that.”

She huffs a bit at that. Takes a breath to calm down, clearly not wanting to be deterred from the objective.

“Before, in Rome, I think I understand a bit better now about what happened. I took away your choices. You didn’t kill Raymond for the same reasons I might have done. You did it because I made you feel there was no way out.”

You feel sick and stop looking at her. Your eyes focus on a kitchen handle partially visible over her shoulder.

“I am ready to explain, no I mean, I am ready apologise if you are ready to hear it”

You aren’t, you realise.

“What has that got to do with bedrooms in the apartment?”

She nods at her offered up and discarded apology before continuing.

“I don’t want to drift into....something....with you because you felt it was easier or ....because you felt you had no options. I don’t want you to share my bed because there is only one bedroom and the sofa is terrible. I want it to be real.”

Oh. 

A ridiculous part of your wants to point out that actually she is in your bed. Possibly not the point, or maybe it is. Its getting increasingly hard to keep track.

Your silence or your expression or something, has irked her so the sentiment gives way to the practicalities.

“I leave in the morning, you can have whatever time you need to think. If you like the apartment then ....that is good....you can bring things over, or not. Buy new if you like.....”

She trails off.

“You can choose where to put your things. My bedroom is where you changed earlier so...... but pick any that you like if that isn’t .....”

More silence.

“When are you coming back?”

“A week. Maybe less. This one will be a good one I think, so few have been lately. A lot of moving pieces. I could-“

You hold up a hand, she stops and a slight frown creases her face.

“Explain to me what this looks like to you ifyou come home in a week and I’m in bedroom two? Or bedroom three or whatever. How many bedrooms...forget it. What does the future look like to you if I don’t ....if we don’t”

She nods again.

“Ok. So could we live here as we have done until now. Minus the cuddling which will make me sad, but at least I’ll know. You can get a new job you like, I hope that you will start to be less prickly about mine. You enjoyed it about me once remember.”

You eye her skeptically.

“You want to be roommates?”

“No. I want to spend every night for the rest of time fucking you but.....I would accept the other”

You flush.

“Is there an answer I could give here where I end up dead? Or shot. Again”

She pauses, she breaths in. She must know that this is the part she must get absolutely note perfect. You wonder how much of this she practiced before tonight.

“Before. When I shot you. You were leaving, and it was more important to me then that if you were leaving it would be on my terms not yours.”

You look her dead in the eye, but detect no hint that she is being flippant or dishonest.

“Now-“

She sits back in her chair deflated.

“Now it is more important that if you stay it is because you want to, not because I make you”

“.....why?”

“I....I want a home. A real one. Yes, I want to travel and I do want to keep working. But I want something more now too. If it’s a home with a roommate that’s ok, I’ll console myself with a lifetime of meaningless affairs with beautiful women. But if it, if this, is more than that....then that would be....good.”

“What happened in Russia?”

She waves her hand dismissively once again.

“It is not for now. I will tell you, I will tell you anything you want but I don’t want to at the moment. I want things settled first”

Well. That was a bit more than you were expecting.

You have to say something. There’s an easy decision here, one you can make now. Making that decision now will buy you time to make the other much harder choice later.

You have no attachments to the flat and the job. Both useful tools to punish yourself with. No reason to stay there beyond that.....and this apartment is really fucking nice.

It’s not a new decision anyhow. You have decided to live with her every morning for the last ten weeks.

“Look, I like living with you which I really didn’t think I would. I also…I like you. Which I also didn’t think I would necessarily, and I hate the shitty apartment. 

I need time to think about the...specifics of what you’ve said tonight. But on any terms I’ll only live here if I can pay rent or something. I can’t pay market rate obviously, but once I get a job, a real one, I want to contribute. Otherwise, the power imbalance you don’t like still exists”

Her eyebrows are raised expectantly.

“So you will....?”

“Yeah.” 

Then she’s up and you’re in a bear hug before you know what’s happened. Christ she is strong.

You think about how little love must have been given to her throughout her life if she is this happy that you have so graciously agreed to live cut price in her beautiful apartment, potentially as nothing but roommates when she is so openly desperate for more. 

The thought makes you sad and you remember that this is the different, more fragile, version of her that you decided to be more delicate with.

“I .... I want to give you what you want. I just don’t know if I can at the moment. I need to think it all through”

Her arms tighten slightly and she momentarily presses her forehead to the side of your face before she steps away.

She shakes the more serious skin she was wearing.

“Let me show you around” 

Then she’s the child again, pulling you from room to room, sparkling with the joy of it all. Until you are back in the first bedroom and the quiet suddenly returns.

“I will stay here tonight”, she announces.

“You can stay too, or I can get an Uber to collect you. It is fine, either way”

“No I’ll stay. If that’s ok”

You answer too quickly. You expect a self satisfied expression when you turn to her. 

She just looks happy. 

Maybe you’ve had it all wrong over the last few weeks. Maybe it wasn’t all a series of skirmishes between you. Maybe she has just been trying to do nice things for you.  


Well, perhaps that’s a stretch. 

You witnessed the perverse satisfaction in her face when she knew that you’d seen those fucking dishwasher tabs. 

But there is more kindness here than you have given her credit for.   
  


Theres a lot more to her generally than you have given her credit for. Whether you are pleased about that you can not say. It just makes it more complicated.


	7. Chapter 7

You escape into the bathroom under the guise of changing. You stare at the reflection in the bathroom mirror after you change into the pyjamas that she packed for you.

You didn’t smoke, you shaved your legs, you agreed to stay. All of those things leading you toward .....something. The thought of her kissing you, touching you is...a lot. It’s what you thought would happen tonight.

Again you play the coward.

It’s what you hoped would happen.

But now? Now she has put all those cards on the table? It wouldn’t just be the long awaited release that you thought it would be. It would be ...more.

Part of you feels cheated. A night of passion with the heartless psychopath that you have been obsessed with. One for the road, no emotions, just some outstanding sex and you are annoyingly certain that it will really be outstanding. You could have sat on your feelings for the sake of something easy and uncomplicated with her.

Probably.

But she’s a person. A person it turns out you actually like, putting the attraction and your obsession aside, you do just like her. She's funny, and interesting and she pushes you. She is Oksana and she is Villanelle. It’s never been a comfortable thing for you to acknowledge. But you can’t really pretend otherwise after tonight.

Your night of no strings sex out the window then. You sigh.

Say you did it. You went out there with some false courage and confidence. Pushed her down on the bed, kissed every part of her. She’d let you, you are certain.What then? What if you were to decide that you couldn’t do it in the long run, couldn’t share her bed, couldn’t be with her the way that she wants? In the way that you think that you might want? It would make anything that happens tonight something cruel. It would be using her to satisfy a need of yours.

It’s the sort of thing you might have done when you convinced yourself she had no real feelings, no human emotions. The sort of thing that makes you feel sick now.

It’s time to decide whether you only want to acknowledge the caricature that she offers up for general consumption, or the person she’s been trying to show you for longer than you’ve cared to see.

You scrub a hand over your face.

Can’t hide in here forever.

You head back out to the bedroom, she’s sitting on the mattress waiting patiently. You wonder if she had the same thoughts you did at the start of all this, on that first night. Where and how to sit to appear sufficiently nonchalant.

You lean down onto the mattress on the floor and she gathers you up against her as she has so many times before.

Now or never.

“I...I want to kiss you, and touch you-“ you begin, until you feel her weight shift as if to move and you reach behind to place your hand on her jaw stilling her.

“I really do. But I don’t think it would be right to do it now before I’ve really had time to make up my mind about everything”

You feel her relax behind you, you didn’t realise how tense she felt before it suddenly drained out of her.

“I just .....wanted you to know”

There is a gentle hand in your hair and she snuggles closer.

She huffs.

“Such a tease. How do you expect me to sleep now?”

“Oh shut up”


	8. Chapter 8

She’s gone in the morning, as she promised. 

You are relieved. You are disappointed.

The floors are cold under your feet as you pad down the hallway to the kitchen. There is another cold coffee that has been left on the side for you. She must realise that it will be cold when you finally get to it. You once thought that it was absent mindedness as her focus turns to work. Now though you think its more likely to be a means for her to show that she thinks of you. 

You realise that with her, its all in the translation. You can choose to understand her actions one way or the other.

In the past you’ve been happy to see the worst. Its easier when lipstick with a razor blade was spiteful, rather than playful. 

Its not normal. Obviously. She isn’t normal, but that’s who she is. It’s who you would be signing up for. She doesn’t show her feelings like most people, she doesn’t express herself like most people, and that’s without addressing the whole contract killer issue.

There are always going to be times when it’s too much. So it’s a question of whether that is something you can live with.

When you are being shot because she feels like she is losing control you can’t live with it, and that’s the rub isn’t it. You might get shot, but hey, she’s got a soft side, so what’s a little murder between friends.

You drink the cold coffee. 

Honestly, though what would it really look like? Does she have the attention span required to actually be with another person and all that entails? The last ten weeks don’t count, that was still part of the chase. She doesn’t have you yet. Maybe she can stomach the routine of it all because there is still some goal, some objective for her to work toward. Without that, with just years stretching into the future, years of cooking dinner and ironing, would she really be happy? 

You love her, that’s great, and maybe she loves you too. You regret what you said in Rome. Maybe her love just looks different. It looks like cold coffee left on a counter, a mattress to help a stiff shoulder, someone to drink wine and watch movies with.

But what happens to you when that, when you, become boring to her?   


She says she wants a real home now, but the novelty of that is sure to wear off. What then? Do you end up disposed of? You don’t think she’d do that, but really could you say for certain? 

She’s left you a set of keys, and a hotel style key card that she used in the lift last night. The clock on the cooker reminds you that you have to be at work in an hour. 

The bubble has to burst some time.

You go to work. You go back to the shitty flat. You drink a bottle of shitty wine that she would have replaced if she’d seen it. You go back into work. You don’t hand in your notice.

Its been three days. 

Then there is a text message.

  * Has it been enough time to talk yourself out of this yet? x



You look at the phone. You turn it over and put it down on the counter. You pick it up.

  * Almost



You watch the three dots appear and disappear a few times. Over the last few weeks you’ve not known her to redraft messages.

  * That is what this time was meant for
  * What are you having for dinner?



Its not really what you were expecting, but grateful for the breathing room you answer her. 

You chat back and forth for several minutes and you realise that you miss her. Theres a pressure building in your throat and behind your eyes. You refuse to cry. Absolutely refuse.

This is the first time that she has contacted you whilst she has been working and an anxious thought crosses your mind.

  * Is this safe?
  * Talking now I mean



Her response is quick

  * Depends on your meaning
  * If you mean is my hotel door about to be bashed down by armed police? Probably not



You type out,

  * I worry about you



You delete it.

  * Is it done? Are you coming back now?



She reads the message and no response comes for a moment.

  * Are you ready for me to come back or do you need more time?



You think of how open she had been with you, open about what she wanted and why. She deserves the same from you.

  * I don’t know. I’ve got some real reservations and Im worried that I’ll see you and I won’t care about them anymore



A quick response this time,

  * Ok. So do you want to tell me what they are?



  * You want a list?



  * Whatever format you like…



You start;

  * Im worried that you want me because you can’t have me. That once you get what you want, I’ll become boring. 
  * Idon’t want to live constantly on edge, worrying about whether you’ll feel out of control enough to shoot me again
  * I am still really angry with you for a lot of reasons and Im worried that I will use those as justification to hurt you.. like I did in Rome
  * and I don’t want to disappoint you



  * How would you disappoint me?



  * You’ve made me this incredible offer to take whatever I want from you and you’ll be content with whatever I give back? Thats a lot. I just don’t want you to be expecting something unrealistic of a relationship between us and then be hurt and angry when it turns out not to be worth it for you.



Fuck. Well, its out there now. You put the phone down quickly. Theres no response. Oh god. 

The phone rings. You don’t pick it up.

  * Pick up the phone you idiot. x



It rings again.

“Hi”

“Yeah, hi”

“So a lot of that is just normal new relationship stuff right? Being worried that the other person will lose interest, worried that it will end and you’ll both be hurt, that kind of stuff”

“Yes, but the stakes feel higher for me if things go wrong. You castrated your last girlfriends husband because you were jealous”

“Well sure, it sounds bad when you put it like that…. I was young and what was happening with Ana was….not healthy. We didn’t really do these big ‘check-in your emotions’ type talks like this.”

“You mean you wouldn’t have castrated him if you’d talked to her about your feelings?”

“Well….maybe, yeah”

“Christ”

“Look I think we are getting away from the point. So. The big problem is trust. You worry you’ll hurt me, and worry I will hurt you. Well, honestly, you might be right. I didn’t get into this thinking you were some kind of saint. You did stab me and then instead of apologising the next time you saw me, like a normal person, you spent weeks treating me like shit. 

Luckily for you, I read between the lines, but I don’t think you have ever been exclusively kind to me…..but I like you anyway. So, there we are, and about losing interest….? The only solution is for you to let me have you and to see who is right….. I feel pretty confident it will be me”

There is a weird crunching sound in the background.

“What are you eating?”

“Popcorn…”

“You brought popcorn for this big ‘are we really doing this, or should we split up forever’ conversation?”

“No, I brought popcorn for a light hearted chat with my girlfriend who I haven’t spoken to for a few days as I am away working”

“I am not your girlfriend”

“No? Partner? Mmmm, not sure about that either. What other things do people say? Lover...?”

“No thats not what I….. You are very difficult sometimes”

“Yes”

There is a pause

“So, am I allowed to come home now?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve missed you.”

“Yes. I mean, I have too”

She huffs gently.

“How soon can you be back?”

“How much time do you need to set things up to pretend you’ve been staying in the new apartment all along?”

“Shut up”

“I’ll be home in two days”

“Good.”


	9. Chapter 9

The lift doors open into the living room , you see her bag is sitting there, and her shoes and coat have been discarded carelessly on the living room floor. 

You smile to yourself as you can practically feel her urgency. She knew what she is coming home to but still needed to see it for herself. You get it, you didn’t exactly drag your heels getting over here tonight. 

But you like to be a dick sometimes so now that you’re here you take your time. 

You sit on the floor to remove your shoes, go to the kitchen to get a glass of water, turn on your phone to pretend to read the news. 

She knows you’re here. She must do, but she hasn’t left the bedroom. You picture her marshalling every ounce of self restraint to stay still and wait for you. 

It’s not an unappealing thought. 

You still have doubts and concerns. You try not to be naive about what you are doing. There are risks, obviously, but what you were missing in your deliberations over the last week was the inconvenient truth that you want it to work. 

You do want to just be with her. Sitting in bed watching as she gets ready for the day. Eating the dinner she’s prepared whilst you’ve been at work. Letting her find new ways to needle you to a reaction. Finally being able to give in to that restless pull you feel when you think about her eyes, mouth, hair, and, Jesus, those elegant hands.

So maybe just both of you trying to be good to each other is enough. 

When you can’t hold back any longer you head toward the bedroom. 

She’s sitting crossed legged at the end of the mattress.

“Your clothes are in a bag in my cupboard”

“Yeah”

She nods, then smiles.

“Should we....do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

She raises her eye brows then nods again.

“Come here”, you hear yourself say.

A flash of surprise crosses her features but she complies. 

“I didn’t imagine you’d be bossy. Or maybe I did, I can’t remember. I thought about it a lot of times and a lot of different ways, one time I even-“

She’s nervous you realise. You put a hand on the side of her face to stop her mid ramble, although you will try to remember to revisit the intriguing topic of all her fantasies of the two of you at a more opportune moment.

“I’m glad you’re home”

She smiles breaths out slowly once, and kisses you. 


	10. Epilogue

This is different to the last time you came back home after a kill.

You remember the sinking in your stomach when nothing looked different in the living room, the tightness in your chest that there was no new furniture and the all encompassing relief when you found that plastic bag full of uninspired knitwear in the cupboard.

Then there was the unbearable wait for her to come to you.

This time it’s her that can’t wait. She’s the one pulling your coat from your shoulders in the living room, directing you toward your shared bedroom with impatient hands and demanding mouth.

You always assumed that you would lead. You always have done before. It has been an interesting development that she is not particularly gentle, not at all passive. But for the first time where she asked for guidance, she has been the one to tell you what she wants to do and what you are to do in return. You have followed instructions eagerly.

She made you wait that first night, she’s not admitted it but you know she took her time deliberately. Perhaps she liked the idea of you sat waiting for her, so wound up and turned on by the prospect of finally being able to fuck her that you could barely sit still.

Yeah, well, paybacks a bitch.

“Eve, Eve, wait”

She tilts her head back and blinks, being taller really is the best.

“I’m gross from the flight and,” you pause for a moment, but because you do so enjoy that appalled face she does sometimes, you continue, “ - and I think I’ve still got blood under my finger nails. Let me shower first ok?”

She doesn’t disappoint and looks at you with the face.

“Ew. Er, yes, ok no problem”

“Sit, tell me what I’ve missed”

She talks about something she’s researching, telecoms conspiracy blah blah. Journalism is what she’s decided to try. She’s got a job in some shitty online newspaper thing.

Not your preference.

You flirted with the idea of suggesting she look into being an international polo player. That would be cool. But you didn't know if she is any good at polo, or even if she can ride a horse.

The newspaper definitely isn’t as fun but she doesn’t come home smelling of pork and looking sad anymore, and really that was the whole point.

Normally you do show an interest in the things she’s investigating, sometimes it’s even genuine, but that isn’t your objective tonight. You start to slowly undo your shirt. You tingle with satisfaction when her eyes drop to your newly revealed skin and her words stumble.

You slowly pull the shirt from your trousers, you make a show of rolling your shoulders, pulling it down your arms and then it’s on the floor. She stops talking.

“So this extends beyond Europe?”

“Err, yeah.Sorry…yes, yes, I think so...” she continues, albeit haltingly as more clothes come off and you shake your hair out.

Oh, this is a fun game. It’s the same one as always; push, push, push, until she reacts. The pieces you play with change but the game is always the same.

Bath or shower? You waiver between the two. Is the bath too obvious? Possibly. Do you care? No. The shower is more practical though, much more scope to put on a show. Decisions, decisions.

You turn away when you unhook your bra and let it fall. Ever the tease. She does stop then, you glance over your shoulder and she looks amused.

Ah, so you’ve been found out.

“Keep going baby, I really want to hear all about it”

“You’re a dick”, but she’s smiling.

“Nope” You say as you slide a hand into your underwear, and because you are now dedicated to this performance you bite your lip and offer up a quiet barely there moan for good measure

Her eyes are on your mouth before dropping to the hand between your legs. She swallows and her fingers tighten on the sheet next to her.

Delight fills you because you’ve done this enough times with her now to know you’ve won.

She’s up and she’s pulling her clothes off. She’s often artless about this kind of thing but you can’t find it in yourself to care. She’s naked, finally, and walking into the shower ahead of you and....fuck.

You’ve had women more beautiful than her, more refined, more experienced, but you’ve never been this...fixated. Never enjoyed their flaws for anything beyond a casual amusement to be exploited. Ana aside you’ve never tolerated their softness, you’ve certainly never sought it out or encouraged it. Perhaps that means it’s her that has won after all. You suppose it’s a question of whether you are to be considered a prize.

She said before that what you feel isn’t love. Maybe she’s right, but what does it matter what name someone gives it.

If she doesn’t want you to use that word, that’s ok, you don’t much care. You keep it to yourself and offer up other things for her. The deeply inelegant but apparently practical desk she wanted for the new job now sits looking out of a place in your tastefully appointed study. You perfect your croissant making skills for Sunday mornings in bed. You choose the boring, safer kills. You let her choose the movies.

She holds a hand out to you and you take it without question. She washes your hair and pushes soap suds away from your eyes. You are suddenly choked. She notices of course and asks if you are alright.

This has been the tough part, letting her in, letting her take care of you. The thought of letting anyone else see this vulnerability in you is unbearable. It’s almost too much with her.

“What?” She asks again

“I’m .....I’m just glad to be home”

You wonder if she’s realises that you mean her.

She smiles and you think she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...thats it...
> 
> Thanks to all those who bothered to read this, comment or left kudos.
> 
> This is the first time I’ve written anything outside of work since University, so I was a little nervous. Particularly as there is a lot of excellent work in this fandom. Really, I’m quite touched it has been so well received.
> 
> Thanks again


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